He Who Was Glorious
by Gold-Snitcher
Summary: Oneshot. Immediately following the Final Battle, Severus speaks with an old companion and finds that a moment is never enough.


**Title**: He Who Was Glorious

**Author**: Gold-Snitcher

**Warning**: Implied slash

**Summary**: Immediately following the final battle, Severus speaks with an old companion.

* * *

He walks through the battlefield, squinting through the rising smoke and trying to sip oxygen in shaky breaths.

He can feel the heat of the ground through his boots and tries to avoid looking at the charred bodies. He walks steadily, moving slowly towards his goal atop the hill.

The climb is slow, he catches himself trying to pretend that a familiar sweep of long white hair doesn't belong to who he thinks it does and, as he finishes convincing himself of this fact, he steps beside the only figure in the field besides himself who is standing.

"He is dead?" he asks, because he might as well be certain, and nothing is more certain than asking Death himself.

"Yes," Death answers, a cool voice, soft in its tones.

He nods and looks towards the ashes that the wind has taken and toys with. "That is him?" he asks. Again, Death nods.

They stand silently beside each other. It is somehow fitting, and he feels oddly comforted by Death's presence. He doesn't admit it then, but later, perhaps, when he replays the moment.

They are silent until his mouth runs away with a question he had been trying to avoid. "Albus is dead, as well?"

"Dumbledore is, indeed, dead," Death answers, and does not turn his head.

"McGonagall?" he queries, suddenly ridiculously concerned with the school and who will be left in charge of it.

"Killed by Lucius." The answer is short and plain.

Again they stand in silence, watching the smoke rise and cover the sun - a fitting burial. "Who will take-over the school?" he asks, wondering now why he is so uncertain. He has never behaved like this before, but now, confronted by this field of ash and corpses, he finds he does not know what to do. He turns to Death, wondering if there is an answer there to be offered. He will take any.

"You will, Severus," Death answers calmly.

He blinks and tries to wrap his head around this, a momentary panic filling him before he returns to his senses. "Of course," he answers, and Death nods. "Will you stay?"

A snort and Death shakes his head. "I think the world's had about enough of me for the moment," Death responds, a self-derisive smile on his face.

Severus wonders how he should respond, but finds there is nothing to say. "Of course," he answers again, stupidly.

"Don't forget this," Death asks, and Severus looks back over the field.

Forget? No, he could never do that. This has been burned into his memory. "Don't forget any of it. It will be the only true monument. In your memory and mine. Together we can honour them all."

"All of them?" he asks.

"All of them. All of the dead; all of the dying," Death answers. "Each of them were victims and each of them tragic in their loss." Severus finds it is oddly poetic to honour the Death Eaters along with the Order. He wonders if the Ministry will erect a monument for the terrors in black. He wonders if he will receive the Order of Merlin for this -- for surviving. He wonders if he wants it.

"We will need you again," Severus finds himself saying, and considers where this statement comes from.

"We?" Death queries, still looking out over the carnage.

"The Wizarding World," Severus clarifies.

Death turns finally, and Severus sucks in a breath. He never believed Death could be so beautiful. Though he has always been in love with Death, he never suspected this cool beauty. Hypnotic, alluring. Perfect. "I will not come back for them," Death says.

"I will need you again," Severus says after a moment. He wonders if Death will scoff, will gloat, will say that this is perfectly obvious and of course Severus should need him.

"Then I will come," Death says instead, in a simple tone as if this were only natural. His smile is a strange smile, neither condescending nor boastful but soft and comforting.

"You are certain you won't stay," Severus clarifies, because he refuses to beg but isn't quite ready to be parted.

"I cannot," Death says. "I have only ever been one thing to the Wizarding World. I will not stay in a place where I cannot be myself."

"That is probably wise," Severus admits.

"But you cannot see my logic," Death says, and he is smiling faintly now.

"I have only ever wanted one thing. At the moment, I feel quite put out," Severus admits, and is surprised by Death's laughter. Not cold, as he had supposed it would be, but soft and melodious and hypnotic. Like the rest of him.

"You are patient," Death chides.

"I find I am growing tired of patience," Severus admits, and then realizes his statement and turns away, looking at red grass and the grey sky and the charred sun.

"But it is a virtue," Death taunts.

"I have always been lacking in virtues."

"But patience has always been one of the few you have had," Death says with confidence. "And it will only be for a little while."

Severus bites his tongue, fighting the urge to say that even if it were only for a day, it would still be too long. Instead, he breathes in the acrid stench of decay and of ash and nods. "Then I must be patient," Severus says. "And you must go."

Off in the distance he can make out the first signs of life -- Wizards, likely from the Daily Prophet apparating to the scene. He hates them for putting a limit on the amount of time he has to say everything he needs to.

"What will you tell them?" Death asks, sounding distant and yet oddly vulnerable. Severus does not dare to think that the voice seems hopeful.

"That he is dead," Severus says simply, his tone making it clear that this will be all he will say to the press.

Death looks at him, an expression so intense that Severus feels as if he has been set alight with phoenix flame. And just when he thinks he can endure the look no more, Death smiles. "Thank-you, for letting me live again." Severus wants to say that he will accept Death's return as thanks enough, but he simply returns the look. Death seems to understand.

There are many things Severus wants to say. To confess. He wants to express his pride, his awe, his love, but those sentiments do not belong in this moment, on this hill, surrounded by decay. Those sentiments require time and that is something they do not have. Not yet.

Severus can see the crowd of reporters, snapping photographs of the dead, stumbling through the battlefield, making their way to the hill.

"They will call you a hero," Death says suddenly, following Severus' eyes to the stumbling figures. It is a statement of fact. In times like these, people will reach for whatever form of guidance they can get. Severus finds it somewhat unnerving that they will even reach for him, will follow him and thank him. There were others, people who, according to Severus, deserve the title of 'hero' so much more. Severus had only ever done what had seemed right to him at the time, ever since the beginning when he had received the Dark Mark, and also when he had betrayed Voldemort and joined the Order. Everything up to this moment, and including this moment.

"Don't ever believe it," Severus says. A simple request and Death looks at him again, that same heated look, with eyes that seem to see all.

"You either," Death pleads, and Severus nods. They are silent once more, both reluctant to part company. They belong together and it's become more difficult to ignore. "The sky is red behind the clouds," Death notes. Severus wonders how he can tell, but then chides himself, Death has always known such things. "Tomorrow will be a glorious day."

It seems both odd and yet so natural. The glory should lie here, in this day, in this triumph. But to Severus, as to Death, the glory lies in what follows this day, this moment; the glory lies in the possibilities, and the fact that there are possibilities.

"Yes," Severus murmurs. "Tomorrow, as you say, will be glorious."

Death nods, satisfied with this, and then leans forward and places a kiss on Severus' cheek.

Severus is stunned.

The world tilts.

He thinks of all the things he wants to say. He thinks of all the possibilities. He should stop this now. He should reach forward and grab Death's cloak and pull him close and never let go.

"Good-bye," Death whispers. "But not forever." It is a precious promise and Severus closes his eyes to better savour it. When he opens his eyes again, Death is gone, and Severus feels immensely full and greatly empty. He wishes he had reacted faster. He wishes that he could still feel the body warmth; smell that rich scent, revel in that beautiful smile.

"Good-bye, Harry," Severus whispers to the wind.

He wonders if he could smile, but decides there will be time to smile later, because good-bye, after all, isn't forever.

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**The End:**


End file.
